


lies and crooked wings

by Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster
Summary: Before the fall of Overwatch, before the rise of Talon, before research was stolen, before the lies and before the deceit—They might have been something before it all.





	lies and crooked wings

"Do you trust me,  _ a stór? _ "

The first time Moira asked her that question had been following a dinner she'd insisted on taking Angela out to. A reward for a breakthrough in her nanite development, she'd called it. "This could be huge," she'd told her, smiling fondly as she lightly ruffled Angela's hair, hand slipping down to cup her flushed cheek. "You have to celebrate where you can." Her gloved thumb had just barely skimmed Angela's lower lip. The graze of silk had made her nearly shudder.

It'd been something like a dream, Angela recalled. Just the two of them. Moira had taken her to some utterly decadent restaurant that Angela wouldn't ever have been to afford on her student's stipend. Her presence had been far more rich and heady than anything they could've served her, and between their murmured conversations and emptied wineglasses, Angela was thoroughly intoxicated on her every word.

Moira had walked her home afterwards, disregarding her low giggles and stumbling steps to smile proudly down at her. Angela merely leaned against her shoulder, grasping clumsily at her hand, the silk of her gloves nearly slipping through her fingers before Moira laced them together.

She'd asked Angela that question in the dark of Angela's entryway, stroking her cheek with the backs of her gloved fingers, dual-colored eyes admiring Angela's entranced expression in the still of the evening.

"Do you trust me,  _ a stór? _ "

The food and drink had loosed Angela's professionalism from her tongue, and she simply smiled softly up at her. "More than anything."

Her smile had begun to fracture when Moira carefully removed one of her ubiquitous gloves, tugging gently at each fingertip till the sleek fabric sloughed off entirely, revealing deathly white skin, hypoxic veins crisscrossing over the nearly-translucent flesh.

Moira's fingers had been cold as the grave when she brushed the backs of them over Angela's cheek again in a gesture that seemed like wonder. Angela trembled, and she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the heat.

"Science will reveal the truth," Moira had noted, her fingertips lingering light on Angela's quivering lower lip, "but sometimes the truth can be... unpleasant. Sometimes ugliness is stumbled over in the search for superiority." Her dual-colored gaze admired the shape of Angela's mouth for a moment before dragging up to her eyes, wide and wondering. "You... are well on your way to achieving that," she purred softly, tugging gently at Angela's chin, parting her lips in a gasp. "Look at you," she added, voice dropping half an octave. "My perfect little one."

Her kiss had been soft and cold and overwhelming, and Angela thought then that she might love her.


End file.
